


We Live, And We Learn

by Whispering_Sumire



Series: TW Bingo♘ [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Background Relationships, Bathing/Washing, Break Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Disabled Character, Domestic, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Getting Together, Growing Up, Happy Ending, Heartfelt Conversations, Hurt Isaac, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Isaac is adorable and needs all the hugs, Love Confessions, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Nightmares, Original Character(s), Pack Bonding, Pack Family, Pining, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Scott gets better, Scott is a Bad Friend, Secrets, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Slow Burn, Stiles needs hugs too, Subspace, Therapy, Wheelchairs, sorta- not really, to be fair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 01:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14368257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whispering_Sumire/pseuds/Whispering_Sumire
Summary: "I haven't really had many friends," he confesses, "and I don't- I don't get out much. Never have any time."Stiles gives him a long hard look, and, for a second, it feels like those eyes, like pieces of chipped toffee, are diving into his soul and observing him atom by atom. It shouldn't be as relaxing as it is, it shouldn't suddenly feel like this person knowseverything, and will keep it all safe, just by virtue of the fact that he'skind. The feeling is so strong, that, for a moment, he's knocked breathless by it.Then, the light changes from red to green, and Stiles is driving again, the moment shattered even more completely when he grins and says, "So, wait, does this mean I'm popping your arcade-cherry?"Isaac finds himself laughing."Yeah, I guess."[Or: The one where Stiles and Isaac become friends before all the werewolfiness happens, and the subsequent canon-divergence that follows.]





	We Live, And We Learn

1 Year, 3 Days, 4 Minutes, and 33 Seconds _Before_

There's a knock on the door, which doesn't make sense, because there's _never_ a knock on the door. His eyes dart up from his plate to his father, who isn't getting up, just staring at him with disdain.

Then, ominous and slow, the tap of knuckles on wood. His father makes a mean sort of noise and gestures with his fork toward the door, an obvious order. So he gets up, walks slowly, and opens it right before the person knocks a third time.

It's... "Stiles?"

The boy grins at him, "Cool. So you know who I am. Uhh, we've talked a few times? During practice? Anyway, not important. My bestie totally bailed on me and I was _way_ too restless to just sit around at home doing nothing- So, I was trying to think of who else might randomly want to hit the arcade with me, and I came up with you! Heh, what'd'ya say?"

Every word is punctuated with a gesture and a flailing limb, sometimes his hands get too close and Isaac has to suppress the urge to flinch. He bites his lip, looks at the boy who seems nervous and hopeful, back at his dad who's been keeping him at the dinner table by eating sluggishly, building up to something, probably the freezer, again.

It's nearly eleven PM, and if he says _'no'_ , all he's going to get is another long, terrible, terrifying night; if he says _'yes'_ , it'll be worse tomorrow. So, so much worse.

But at least he'll have had a break, and, hey, who knows? Maybe he'll even have a friend?

"Okay," he says, quiet and timid, dragging his eyes back toward Stiles. "Okay, sure."

The boy beams, grabs him by the arm, which is equal parts _terrifying_ and _painful_ , but Isaac bites his tongue until it bleeds to keep himself from gasping and doesn't let himself pull away. Stiles isn't _trying_ to hurt him, he thinks, hopes, prays, as the boy drags him off to his jeep and opens the door for him, ushering him inside.

A minute after Stiles starts driving he taps the glove-box door, "There're snacks in there if you're hungry, and since this was _super_ spontaneous, games are on me."

"'Kay," Isaac breathes with a nod, studies Stiles for a moment. "Why'd you think of me?"

"Huh?"

"When you- for this- I mean-"

"Oh! Because of your job? Is that rude? To think that a grave-digger is gonna be up late? Sorry, I just thought you'd actually be awake. Well, and I thought you wouldn't make fun of me for wanting to _go_ to the arcade in the first place. Jackson and Danny can galavant around with all their precious popularity and whatever posh-- _whatever_ , all they want, but! For those of us with too much energy and not enough focus? The arcade is downtime _heaven_. What about you Isaac- I can call you Isaac, now, right? We're buddies- what do you do when you're not at school?"

Isaac wonders dazedly if Stiles ever has time to _breathe_ , or if his lungs are so full of words and sounds it superimposes the need altogether.

"We're buddies?" He asks, faint.

"Sure we are! Right? I mean, unless you don't want-"

"No, no. That's, that's cool. I just, it's always just you and Scott?"

"Yeah, well," Stiles shrugs, but there's a hint of something slightly bitter there, and Isaac can already tell, when Stiles isn't even _talking_ about it? It's probably pretty bad. He wonders if he's not such a good person, wanting to take advantage of that, wanting the companionship, wanting to just- not be _alone_ anymore.

"I haven't really had many friends," he confesses, "and I don't- I don't get out much. Never have any time."

Stiles gives him a long hard look, and, for a second, it feels like those eyes, like pieces of chipped toffee, are diving into his soul and observing him atom by atom. It shouldn't be as relaxing as it is, it shouldn't suddenly feel like this person knows _everything_ , and will keep it all safe, just by virtue of the fact that he's _kind_. The feeling is so strong, that, for a moment, he's knocked breathless by it.

Then, the light changes from red to green, and Stiles is driving again, the moment shattered even more completely when he grins and says, "So, wait, does this mean I'm popping your arcade-cherry?"

Isaac finds himself laughing.

"Yeah, I guess."

* * *

1 Year, 2 Days, 13 Hours, 51 Minutes, and 42 Seconds _Before_

They spent almost the whole of last night at the arcade, goofing off, messing around- Stiles bought them pizza and drinks at one point, and then, when he was too tired to continue, and Isaac said he didn't really want to go home, he drove them both to his house, put in a movie that they both watched on the couch, passed out on his shoulder like it was familiar. Like they've _always_ been friends.

Now it's the class before lunch, chemistry, and where Stiles normally partners with Scott, and Isaac normally ends up with some random person who expects him to do all the work- he finds the other boy sliding easily into the seat next to his, grinning at him like he hasn't done something totally uncharacteristic.

Isaac glances up to see Scott across the way, looking lost and a bit like a kicked puppy. He gives Stiles a confused frown, and he shrugs.

"Scotty doesn't deserve the magic that is my magnificent brain, today. Which means _you_ get the privilege," a pretty sort of smile, soft and sweet, that he finds himself returning almost before he can help it.

It _is_ a privilege, he finds; Stiles is _amazing_. He doesn't do what the teacher wanted at _all_ , but he _does_ create three really interesting chemical reactions, and he explains what he's doing the entire time- it's obvious that he knows way more about this subject than anyone else in this room, and that the only reason he's not in AP is because he doesn't follow instructions, he thinks they're too boring.

The teacher isn't happy with them, but Isaac feels like he's learned more from Stiles excitedly whispering about synthetic bio-pathways for germs and how self-igniting molotov-cocktails work, chemically speaking, than he ever could've trying to make Mr. Harris _happy_.

At lunch, two things happen, one worrying and the other more incredible than he has words for. First, Stiles sits with him, starts chatting, and then Scott comes over, sheepish and apologetic, and he's so _sorry_ and sweet and supplicating that Stiles ends up giving in, accepting and forgiving, getting up to hug the guy. For a minute Isaac's breath catches, and he wonders if this is it, a day and a half of friendship, and then it's over, gone, just like that.

But Stiles just drags Scott into the seat next to him, and then they're _both_ sitting with him, asking him about his day, his life, telling him about theirs.

Scott's naive and optimistic and insightful, even if he's not the brightest tool in the shed; Stiles is sardonic and sarcastic and cynical, smarter than anyone Isaac's ever met, and he weaves the three of them together by the simple act of _being_ there- like they were _always_ friends, they just didn't _notice_ until now.

* * *

342 Days, 1 Minute, and 59 Seconds _Before_

It doesn't _stop_ there. At school they're _always_ with him, and, sometimes, Stiles just shows up with Scott in the backseat, middle of the night, spirits him away for impromptu arcade/bowling/cinema outings, or spontaneous hiking trips that end at that little dive half-way up the mountain that nobody knows about, but serves the best pancakes known to man, and the best coffee on fridays.

Needless to say, his dad isn't a fan, took his phone away the third time it chimed with an incoming text, grounds him constantly, and the freezer is an every-time-I-catch-you thing now, instead of a bi-weekly thing.

But he gets to escape, now, every once in awhile, with two really, really amazing friends. Pockets of freedom.

Stiles, though, Stiles is beginning to worry him. He's clever and quick, loyal beyond ferocity, and more protective of him than he can even handle sometimes.

Jackson and his cronies tried to bully him three different times after Stiles staked claim on him before they realized who he was friends with, a berserker with a silver-tongue who knows all of your weaknesses the moment he locks eyes with you and who isn't above waiting to get his very terrifying revenge. He's not strong by any means, but he's determined as hell, and the moment anyone starts ragging on Isaac he comes in like some sort of fury from hell- garnering their attention and forcing them to lay off all at once.

He doesn't get bullied anymore, well, at school, anyway.

He's worried, though, that Stiles is figuring it out, the bruises he's noticed, the flinching, the few nightmares he's had to wake Isaac up from, the poor excuses for why he didn't come to school all week, looks like death warmed over, and is literally starving.

The boy has begun to drive him to his own house after school, barely letting him go home when he can help it, _always_ watching him with sharp eyes.

And, he thinks, sitting on Stiles' bed, watching him put together a board on the Hale fire- a cold-case of his dad's that he firmly believes was arson, not an electrical fire, and something he started looking into the other night because he didn't have anything else to _do_ (and not having anything to do, Isaac is beginning to understand, is the most _unforgivable_ thing in Stiles' opinion; may the whole world cower in the face of a bored Stiles Stilinski)- after having helped his dad _solve_ a _different_ case this morning, he doesn't have much longer, does he?

* * *

321 Days, and 57 Seconds _Before_

Stiles is trying to keep himself quiet, despite his lungs constricting and his heart beating so fast it's threatening to drum right out of his ribcage. Isaac had said he'd come out last night if he could, and had proceeded to vanish, not texting back or picking up his phone, not at school today, and Stiles knows what that means by now.

It means he'll show up in a few days half-drunk on exhaustion, covered in badly concealed bruises, hunched like it hurts to stand up straight, paler and hungrier than anything.

And he won't fucking stand for it.

Isaac's a _nice_ guy, a great friend, and Stiles _likes_ him- but, more than that, he's gotten to know him; brilliant, brave, kind of a douche when he doesn't check himself, kind of a deer in headlights in any situation he doesn't feel comfortable (read: all of them). Stiles has a hunch, about what's happening, and he just- he can't let it continue, he _can't_.

He's not going to let him suffer alone anymore, he's not going to let him suffer, period.

Which is how he found himself sneaking through the Lahey's back-door, quiet as a mouse, in the middle of the fucking night. He's gotta walk past the old man's door to get to Isaac's, and the floor boards creak every other step, which has his heart stuttering and every spidey-sense he owns screaming at him to get the fuck out of there, but he doesn't care, he has to know, for sure, what's going on.

Because maybe it's nothing- maybe all those red-flags he's seen point another direction he just hasn't thought of yet.

Yeah, he highly fucking doubts it.

Irritatingly, suspiciously, Isaac isn't in his room, or the attic, or the garage, or the fucking basement-

Ah, but there, a freezer, all chained up and rattling like it came out of some horror movie, and it really is horrifying, because those whimpers and keening cries and gasps of exertion and fear all sound awfully, wretchedly like, "Isaac?"

Movement stops, freezes for just a moment, and then, small and needy and so fucking _desperate_ , "Get me out. Please, _please_..."

"Shit," Stiles breathes. "Okay, okay, hold on. Just hold on."

It takes ten whole fucking _minutes_ to ransack that stupid, shitty basement for a pair of bolt-cutters, and another minute to actually break the fucking _chains_ wrapped around the goddamned _freezer_ his _friend_ \- a human being- is locked inside.

By the time he gets it open he's trembling and there are hot, angry tears running down his cheeks, and he can't even help the little whine he makes when he sees him, naked and bloody and bruised and _terrified_. Immediately he's scrambling to get out, desperate and panicked, and Stiles helps him, a flurry of movement that ends with Isaac shaking and shuddering in his lap, in his arms, them both half-collapsed on the floor.

"Thank you, thank you," Isaac is chanting in a delirious sort of mumble and Stiles just holds him as he begins to break down into ugly, broken sobs.

"I've got you," he says, wet and sniffling around his own tears, "I've got you, now. You're safe, you're gonna be okay."

"No," Isaac mumbles, tries to push himself away, "m-my father, he-he'll ki-ill you, you've gotta, y-you've-"

Stiles cups Isaac's face in his hands, makes him look into his eyes, presses his lips together against the heartache twisting in his chest, making his throat burn, "I am _not_ leaving you here, Isaac. Do you understand me? Your father can go straight to hell."

"St-Stiles," Isaac whimpers, and Stiles takes a deep shuddering breath.

"I'm not gonna make you tell my dad," he says, even though it _kills_ him to say it, "but I _am_ gonna make you come home with me. Please, Isaac, please? Just let me take you home?"

Isaac sniffs, looks at him with wide, watery eyes, then wraps his arms around his neck and presses his face into his shoulder, melting into him with a quiet sigh.

"Okay."

* * *

Isaac gets wrapped up in a blanket, and helped into and out of the jeep- he's out of it for most of the drive, too heavy and lost in his own mind, and Stiles, for the first time since he's known him, is quiet.

When they get inside Stiles helps him with the shower, he doesn't really feel like moving, his limbs fuzzy and his mind full of cotton-static, but that doesn't seem to matter, because the other boy isn't letting him do much anyway. Nimble fingers, milk-white skin dotted with cinnamon moles, a bar of soap, suds and palms smooth and slippery against wet, dirtied skin. Stiles scrubs away the blood and the sweat with tender, gentling touches that make him feel whole and cared for, that let his soul submerge itself in the warmth-cozy of it, lets his head float somewhere far away, because he doesn't need to be _present_ for this, can just _trust_ Stiles to do it all for him.

He lets himself be lowered back into the shallow water, sees willowy arms and kind brown eyes, feels fingernails scratch against his scalp as he soaks his hair, massages shampoo into it. He thinks he moans a little, nuzzles into the touch, but he's so out of it, it's all fuzzy-soft, not really there, far, far away. It's nice, in its own way.

Stiles smiles at him, his cheeks a dark, pretty sort of red, and Isaac blinks up at him slowly, smiles back, dazed, as the bubbles get washed away.

He gets helped out of the tub, a towel gently brushing his legs, his ass, belly, chest, arms, face, hair, as the water drains. Isaac lets Stiles maneuver him, is pliant and submissive while the other boy tenderly dries him off, hums quietly when he sees little crystals drop from Stiles' eyes and roll down his cheek to the floor as the towel gets wrapped around his waist. He brushes them away with his knuckles, kisses the eyes that made them absently, and nuzzles into Stiles' body-heat.

Stiles feels strong and valuable, grounding and kind, in his arms, and he lets himself hold on tightly even as his muscles go loose, his mind floats farther, his soul dives deeper. Hollow-whole.

"Isaac," Stiles murmurs into his ear as his arms come up around him, hold him steady. It sounds like the wind-chimes his mother used to have hung up on the porch awning, how they'd sway and sing in the fall and she'd sit on the floor directly under them sipping coffee with marshmallows in, telling him stories as the sun made her flaxen hair _glow_. "Where even are you right now?"

"Down," he says muzzily, because that's all he knows to call it, what this feels like. His body tingles where Stiles touches it, "Far, far, far away, down," he half-giggles, even though he doesn't really know what's funny, but it _is_ , or it's _something_ , or it's that day when he ran to the lake and fell asleep in agony, but woke up with a swarm of butterflies all tickling his skin.

"Okay. That's okay, Isaac. You're doing good, so, so good. Can you sit for me? On the toilet? I just need to stitch you up a little, alright?"

"You won't leave me?"

"No, Isaac," Stiles says fiercely, squeezing him in a way that makes him shiver, nestle in closer even though he knows he'll have to let go soon, " _never_."

* * *

Stiles settles him into his bed, Isaac still so dazed, supple and submissive and pliant. He doesn't know what this is, doesn't know if it's the effect of what he went through, or of what Stiles was doing in the face of it, but it's making him cuddly and childish, only really one quarter there. Even the kisses he'd planted on Stiles' eyelashes felt innocent and comforting.

The state of him, even all patched up, all those scars, all that terror painted on his skin, bruises that look yellowed and black and awful, lashes, deep and crisscrossed all over his back, cigarette burns like shackles around his ankles, ragged, bloody fingernails from all the _scratching_. It's worse than anything Stiles could've imagined.

It doesn't even feel awkward or weird or uncomfortable, at this point, after going through all that, when Isaac pulls him down onto the bed with him and clings, asking again, what he's asked five times now, hugging him in the bathroom, holding his hand down the hall, as Stiles dressed him.

"You won't leave?" Small, timid.

"Not a chance," Stiles assures, steadfast and honest, as Isaac pulls him in closer and nuzzles into his neck, legs tangling together as he sighs, content.

"Okay."

* * *

Stiles wakes up to someone clearing their throat very _pointedly_ , and looks over his shoulder, confused, at his dad standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyebrows raised. Stiles blinks at him, absently pulls Isaac closer when he stirs.

"What?" He whispers sleepily.

The sheriff points between them, eyebrows still raised, "Something you wanna tell me here, son?"

Yes, he thinks, he desperately wants to tell him fucking _everything_ , because this isn't something he's sure he's handling right, because they might need an _adult_ on this one, because he needs, more than anything, to keep Isaac _safe_. But it isn't his to tell, and he said he wouldn't, besides, that isn't what his dad's asking after.

"Nope," he says, with as much cheekiness as he can muster considering the god-awful night he's had.

"Sure," his dad says disbelievingly before shaking his head and walking away, calling a, "don't be late for school!" Over his shoulder as he lumbers down the stairs.

Stiles heaves a great big sigh and looks down at his sleeping companion.

He'll be able to keep Isaac from having to go back home for three days, at the most, which means he's got exactly that long to convince him to tell someone what's going on with his father. An _adult_ , who can _do_ something about it.

They've also got- he squints up at the wall-clock- an hour before they really need to get ready, and there's no way Stiles is waking him up before he absolutely has to. But, he _himself_ is awake, now, won't be able to go back to sleep for anything.

Maybe he can do some research before he gets ready.

* * *

_Subdrop_. And Shock.

What happens when certain chemicals are experienced in pain and adrenaline, sometimes pleasure, endorphins, sometimes fear- and then there's a sudden pitfall, an absence of Aftercare, or just something unexpected, like _release_ from fucking non consensual _imprisonment_ , and all those hormones and chemicals go fucked-up wonky.

Then, actually _experiencing_ Aftercare, like, for instance, having someone bathe you, patch you up, feed and clothe you, can sometimes put you back into subspace, especially if you're already in that place, _down_ , in your head.

Because, even non-sexually (as far as Stiles _knows_ ), non-consensually, when you're forced into submission, even in such a hurtful, volatile way- it still fucks with your brain. Just as much, if not more than, your body.

The neuroplasticity of abuse.

 _That's_ what was happening to Isaac, while he was in that freezer, and even for awhile while he was out of it, shaky and needy and terrified, and Stiles, albeit _completely_ accidentally, Service Dommed him into subspace.

So. There's _that_.

"Stiles?" Isaac asks softly from almost directly behind him, and he sounds a little amused, still sleep-soft, "Why are you looking at BDSM sites?"

Stiles slams shut his laptop and spins around, gaping, no excuses coming to mind, and Isaac, rubbing his eyes of dream-dust, smiles. It's adorable, like, honestly the cutest thing he's maybe ever seen. He makes an indignant noise when his mostly non-existent hair gets ruffled.

"'S cool. Everyone's a little kinky," Stiles feels heat creep up his cheeks, but Isaac doesn't pay it any mind, just turns to leave the room. "Want some pancakes?"

"Uhh, y-yeah, sure- wai-wai-wait, wait! Isaac," Stiles calls, running after him, grabbing his elbow _lightly_. "Are we- are we not gonna talk about?"

Isaac's eyes darken, "No. I'm fine. _It's_ fine."

"Isaac," Stiles sighs, doesn't let go, and when Isaac makes a pained sort of face and looks away, Stiles just takes his chin, tips it back up with his fingers and ducks his head to meet the boy's eyes.

"It's _not_ fine- those bruises? The- jesus, the _cuts_ on your back Isaac. Don't tell me that's _fine_."

"Sorry," Isaac murmurs, "'m sorry."

Stiles frowns, swallows around the lump in his throat and pulls Isaac into a hug.

"It's okay, you're- you're _good_ Isaac, it's not your fault. It's _his_."

Isaac shivers a little, wraps his arms around Stiles' middle and buries his face in his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, and they stay like that for a long while, just keeping each other close.

* * *

318 Days, 2 Hours, 48 Minutes, and 31 Seconds _Before_

Isaac's been staying at the Stilinski's a few nights, now, Stiles unwilling to let him go. The only real changes their friendship has seen since the revelation is a new adamant hatred for his father, constant cuddling and hugging and watching- seriously, Stiles is with him 24/7 and touching him, _gently_ , almost as much- and a sort of urgency and restlessness.

Stiles is always pushing, subtle and kind and soothing but constant, to _tell_ someone, _do_ something, and now that it's been so long, his phone having received a very threatening text- Isaac knows, he has to go.

"No," Stiles begs, blocking his way out of the room, "Isaac I can't let you go back there."

"Why not?" Isaac snaps, "Why do you want me to tell someone, why do you want me to stay here _so_ badly? What's gonna happen when I do, huh? I'm going to go into foster-care, be put with someone even _worse_ , maybe even end up homeless-"

" _Isaac_ ," Stiles says, launching himself from the door into his arms, the move so surprising that Isaac stumbles backward a bit, arms coming up around him automatically. "Melissa can foster, my dad's the sheriff, and I've got connections. I won't _ever_ let anything like that happen to you. I don't want to _lose_ you, I want you to be _safe_. Please, please, can you just- can you trust me?"

"I always trust you," Isaac breathes, then holds on tighter, buries his face deeper into Stiles' shoulder, "but I'm _scared_. And- what if you get tired of having me around? Realize I'm a shit friend? What if Scott hates me for-"

"I love you," Stiles says, and Isaac's heart skips a beat, his stomach somersaults, "we _all_ love you, Isaac. You're family-" _Ah._ It's comforting to hear, and it still makes his heart _soar_ , but it's just the slightest bit disappointing- "you're already family. This way? It's just official. Okay? _Please_."

"I love you, too," he whispers, meaning it in every possible way, in the way that Stiles is always what he's thinking of, is the one who makes him feel safe and happy, the one who makes him laugh and smile easiest, the one he wants to _protect_ , even when he doesn't know how to do that for _himself_.

He feels Stiles smile against the shell of his ear, his arms squeezing around him, and, that? That's what makes his decision.

"Let's go find your dad."

* * *

291 Days, 19 Hours, 36 Minutes, 14 Seconds _Before_

It's been two months since he told, and _showed_ , the sheriff what was going on. His father got arrested, and he did end up in CPS custody for about a week before they got it sorted out with Melissa.

He's officially a McCall, and, to be honest? _Everything_ has changed, just as much as nothing has really changed at all. He spends more nights at Stiles' than at Scott's, mostly because sleeping is so hard to come by unless he's with Stiles, and even then, sometimes, he'll wake up on the couch with bitten back screams, crawling into Stiles' bed sweaty and panicking in the middle of the night.

He'll never have to wait to eat, be locked in a freezer, be punched and kicked and hit, ever again- but his brain still waits for it, touch still has him flinching away, certain things take him back to that place and either leave him shaking with terror or shaking with anger. He's going to therapy, and that helps, a lot, actually, but he's still going _through_ it.

He'll _always_ be going through it.

Just because the abuse stopped, doesn't mean it never _happened_. His boundaries, his psychology, brain, body, soul- all of that got screwed with, fucked up, violated, destroyed. And now, he's got to work so _hard_ just to feel _normal_ , to have normal _relationships_.

Establishing healthy relationships and healthy boundaries, that helps, too- and with the McCalls and Stilinskis, both, it comes easily. The family he has, the sense of safety they give him, and how, just, _good_ they are. How good _Stiles_ is.

And he has this moment, now- he's sitting on the couch, eating pizza, John sitting on the sofa-chair beside, trying to sneak pieces despite the two great, big, healthy _salads_ Stiles got him, Stiles and Scott sitting ahead of him, in front of the coffee table the pizzas are on, Stiles making a victorious noise because his team just beat Scott's team on CoD, then Stiles looks back at him, over his shoulder.

His eyes are sparkling, the light hitting them just right, like sun-soaked mahogany, his grease-smeared lips are smiling, carefree, and Isaac's knocked breathless, because he loves him. He already knew that, he already knows he's _in love_ with him.

But this is different.

He'll never love anyone like he loves Stiles, not the way it swells inside of his soul and breaks every frame he tries to put it in, getting bigger and bigger every day. This is _it_ for him, even if nothing comes of it, even if he'll never have him, he will love him for the rest of his life, and he won't crash from this fall.

Because he's never going to _stop_ falling.

"...Son?" John asks, and Isaac suddenly remembers they were having a conversation, about his sweet sixteen, or something like that. He hadn't been paying attention at all.

It takes everything he has to tear his eyes away from Stiles in order to look at John, but he manages.

"Yeah?"

* * *

114 Days, 8 Hours, 57 Minutes, 21 Seconds _Before_

Isaac is used to Stiles' long-winded ramblings at this point, and listens with half an ear and a forced, supportive-looking smile. Charlotte, his therapist, has told him about transference, and that that may be what's going on here, for him, with Stiles. He tried to believe her, at one point, if it was that, at least, it would be less painful.

But it's been a little over half a year, now, since these feelings developed, and they've only been getting _stronger_. He knows Stiles has flaws, they fight, they argue, and Stiles can be annoying as _hell_ sometimes. But he's in love with him, and he doesn't think it's ever stopping.

He also doesn't think it'll ever be reciprocated.

He's made his peace with that, promised himself that he'll be there, as a friend, for whatever Stiles needs, whenever he needs it. And that'll be all.

Charlotte, after awhile, agreed that it wasn't transference, she's tried to get him to _go for it_ multiple times, each time being gently told that he never would, not wanting to ruin that friendship. Up until today, she's said that pining is good for a young boy's personal growth, today she talked with him about obsessions and moving on.

He wonders if that's what this is? If he's just obsessed? Well, he guesses, he's not hurting anything, is he? He'd never do anything to or with Stiles without his permission, not even in his imagination, and he's never dreamt any _good_ things, so no worries there. And if Stiles ever said he was uncomfortable or simply didn't want to be friends anymore? Well, his heart would break, it would fucking shatter, but he'd go.

Anything for Stiles.

And yeah, that probably isn't very healthy, he isn't a very healthy person, but he's getting better.

Mostly.

"So, your ten-year plan... that starts today?" Isaac asks, smiling at his friend, and Scott snorts.

"You've been trying to get Lydia to pay attention to you since we were _eight_ , man. You really think ten years is gonna do it?"

"I have a plan!" Stiles flails, and laughs, "It's a really, really _good_ one!"

Scott nods placatingly and claps him on the shoulder, "I'm rootin' for you, buddy."

"If it's you," Isaac says softly, and he feels a piece of his heart chipping away with the words, "she'll fall in love in no time. You're amazing, she's a genius, she'll realize it eventually."

"Right!" Stiles squeals gleefully, pulling him into a hug and grinning like a mad-man when he pulls back, "This guy knows what I'm talkin' about!"

* * *

79 Days, 1 Hour, and 1 Minute _Before_

"It _was_ arson!" Stiles exclaims, after the fourth hour straight of staring at his make-shift war-room, or, the half of his room dedicated to the Hale fire and various other cases that he's helped his dad with.

Isaac sets aside his homework and stands from Stiles' bed curiously, squinting at the wall full of photos and records and notes and thumbtacks and strings, then at the clear board covered in Stiles' scrawl and sighs, "I don't see it."

"Neither did I, at first, but look at this," Stiles says, pointing the pen he was chewing on at a piece of paper, bank statements, Isaac thinks, and scrunches his nose up in confusion. He wonders how much of Stiles' spending money goes to Danny, and, too, how much hacking Stiles did himself when he didn't have enough money to pony up.

Criminal investigations, Isaac has found, is worse than gas-guzzlers and gambling when it comes to both your wallet and your sanity.

"The insurance guy, Garrison Myers? He got _paid off_ to the tune of fifteen thousand fucking dollars, right after the fucking fire- and that, the company that gave him that _'loan'_ (for fucking what?) is a shell corporation owned by like three other shell corporations owned by this huge, like, mafia family, the _Argents_. And _they_ had this whole family feud going on with the-"

"Stiles, _Stiles_ , breathe," Isaac chuckles, and wraps him in a tight hug, picking him up and spinning him around for the pure excitement of it. "This is it, right? The lead that means your dad can finally investigate it _properly_?"

"Yeah," Stiles breathes, laughing, triumphant, his arms around Isaac's neck and his whole body pressed against him, toes barely touching the floor. "It's my lead, finally. I _found_ it."

Isaac grins, "Good job, Stiles. I'm so fucking proud of you."

"Shut up," Stiles says, but Isaac can hear his smile, and he just spins him around again, making him squeal and laugh in delight as he holds on tightly, "You ass! Let me down! Isaac!"

* * *

10 Days, 6 Hours, 17 Minutes, and 38 Seconds _Before_

Garrison Myers confessed, riddled with enough guilt to put the fucking Pope down.

But, unfortunately, all he knows beyond his own part in the conspiracy was that it was a father and daughter who came to him, told him not to investigate, and paid him off; that she was blonde and young, that he was old and rough-voiced, that they had other people they were working with.

Pulling on the shell corporation thread leads three arsonists, one a video store clerk and the other two your average 2-D criminal goons, they hold off on confessing until they get a deal before all three of them point their fingers at Kate and Gerard Argent.

At this point, all of this making news, Harris, ("Fucking _Harris_ ," Stiles had squealed, "can you _believe_ it?" "You're totally going to the special kind of hell," Scott had pointed out, "for enjoying this." "Oh, I don't even _care_.") who had apparently chatted up an attractive blonde in a bar with a chemical accelerant for fire that was water-proof, and how to do it in a way that wouldn't get you caught, came in and gave a statement.

Now, John and Scott sitting at the table, Isaac putting the finishing touches on the meal ("It _is_ heart-healthy, jesus." "Then how is it so _good_?" "I'm just a better cook than you." "No, you're an _ass_." "I _have_ a better _ass_ , too." "Oh my _god_."), and Stiles grabbing it from his hands to serve it as quickly as possible because:

"Oh my god, I'm starving. You've been torturing us all with the smells for hours!"

"It'll taste even better," Isaac grins as he follows him out, helping him set the table.

"Hardy har, har, just because you're _such_ a good fucking cook. I did _fine_."

"No," the sheriff says with a shudder, "you did not."

"I will never forget the tofu fiasco of '05," Scott says solemnly.

"Oh my _god_ , I was _ten_! Jesus, my dad and my best friend ganging up on me," Stiles sulks, and Isaac smiles at him as he sits down in the chair beside his.

"On your _food_ ," he corrects, "we like _you_ just _fine_."

"Uh huh. You all _suck_ ," Stiles grumbles, taking a bite of the food, and his eyes immediately roll up into the back of his head as he moans. "Okay. I take that back. You're a god, the god of all things food, holy _shit_ , this is good."

Isaac beams, preening at the praise, while Scott snickers and John snorts.

A little after they really start tucking in, the sheriff says, trying- and failing- for casual, "Laura Hale called."

Stiles almost chokes, and Isaac pats his back through it, he takes a swig of water before saying, strangled with both excitement and the coughing fit he just endured, "Seriously!?"

"Yeah, kid." John chuckles, " _Seriously_. She said she hadn't heard the news about our progress with the case until yesterday, and it'll take her some time to finish up whatever she's got goin' on in New York, but she wants to visit. See if she can shed any light."

"That's amazing!" Stiles gasps, gleeful.

" _You're_ amazing," Isaac finds himself saying before he can help it, "you're the only reason we _know_ anything Stiles. The only reason she's getting any _closure_."

Stiles looks at him, shocked, blush steadily blooming on his cheeks.

John, who Isaac has a sneaking suspicion _knows_ how he feels, smirks at him before turning to Stiles and saying, "He's right, kiddo. You did real good."

"What about Derek?" Scott asks a moment later, mouth full, "Derek Hale? Is he coming too?"

"No. I think this place has too many traumatic memories for him, Laura said he was adamant about staying behind."

"Oh," Scott says, "that's too bad. Poor guy."

* * *

45 Minutes, and 19 Seconds _Before_

Stiles is listening in on his dad's call, like he does quite _often_ , when he hears it. A body in the woods, or, half a body, anyway, and his heart skips a beat.

It could be _anyone_ , for _any_ reason, and he's got _nothing_ to do right now. No pending research, no Isaac having nightmares in his bed, no homework, no interesting books to read, the bowling alley is going to close soon, nothing interesting is on at the cinema, and he's beaten every highscore at the arcade twice over- except for the racing one, that one belongs to Isaac, gotta give credit where credit's due.

Still, he's bored, and this, this is interesting.

* * *

34 Minutes, and 57 Seconds _Before_

Scott hears a noise, a really weird noise, and his heart rate increases, he grabs the bat by his bed and stalks down the hall, only to be startled into half-screaming by Isaac opening his door, dressed like he's ready for a hike.

"Isaac! What the hell?"

"What the hell, yourself, man. Why aren't you dressed?" Isaac smirks, looking him over.

"Dressed for what?"

"Stiles," Isaac says, like that's the only thing he needs to say, and, well, considering- it kind of is.

"I was going to study," Scott pouts, and Isaac rolls his eyes.

"In the words of our best friend, 'studying is _boring_ '," he shrugs as he b-lines for the stairs, "besides," he calls over his shoulder, "Roscoe's got snacks!"

"It's not even friday!" Scott protests, but it's weak at best, that diner still has awesome pancakes, and besides, hiking in the middle of the night _does_ have it's own productivity, like, for instance, gaining enough muscle to get first line.

Also, there isn't any point in fighting Stiles, let alone Stiles _and_ Isaac, so he sighs, relents, and goes to change into his hiking gear, defeated.

* * *

11 Minutes, and 11 Seconds _Before_

"Stiles," Isaac says, half chiding, half exasperated, as the boy shoves both he and Scott down with an arm around their necks, "any chance you told your dad we were going looking in the woods for a body?"

"Nope," Stiles whispers with a grin, and Isaac huffs, Scott takes another hit on his inhaler.

"Dude," he says, breath a little raspy, "I don't want to get grounded."

"And you _won't_ ," Isaac says with a sigh, dusting himself off as he stands easily, " _neither_ of you will."

"Aww, man," Stiles coos, "are you taking the fall for us?"

"Never minded takin' the fall for you Stilinski," Isaac grins, then rolls his eyes. "Look, just, you two go that way. I'll keep 'em on me. Tell them I was out for a walk, didn't know what was going on. I'll distract them for as long as I can, but you guys gotta get to Roscoe and get the hell outta here, alright?"

"Sure," Scott says with a charming smile, "thanks, dude."

"Who knew your penchant for walks to deal with insomnia would actually be _helpful_ every once in a while," Stiles teases, and Isaac snorts.

"You can thank my therapist."

* * *

59 Seconds _Before_

Stiles finally relents, giving the 'severe asthmatic' the goddamned flashlight, and urging him on ahead. He really isn't expecting to find the body on the way back by stumbling over a stupid fucking branch, and when he _does_ , he feels like being _sick_ , in every _possible_ way.

"Laura?" He breathes, horrified, and this causes Scott, ahead of him by about three feet, to pause, and point the light in his general direction, gasping when he sees it, too.

Then there's a loud, thundering noise to his left that gets closer until there's a whole herd of stampeding deer fucking _on_ them. They get separated in the chaos, and next thing he knows, there's a giant, monstrous, wolf-like _thing_ digging its teeth into Scott's side before running the fuck away.

"Scott!" Stiles hisses, crouching down next to him and inspecting the wound.

"I'm fine, I... What the hell _was_ that?"

Stiles looks up, at their now clear surroundings, can't even see the flashlight or Laura's body anymore, hears a howl echo.

"I have no fucking clue, man."

* * *

♘ _ACT TWO_ ♘

* * *

It takes no time at all, having witnessed it happen, tended to the wound, and seen it heal miraculously, himself, to figure out what it is- or, at least, for a hypothesis. Scott doesn't believe him, but Isaac, seeing the changes in Scott and having more faith in Stiles, does.

When the three of them go in search of his inhaler and run into one Derek Hale, Stiles immediately jumps in, no self-preservation, apologizing for his loss and being on his property and babbling some about the case. Isaac has to hold him back and give him a small, but fond, glare to shut him up, and Stiles smiles sheepishly at the man who ends up seeming more dazedly exasperated than annoyed. But, well, Stiles does that to people.

They all thank him for returning the inhaler, and leave.

Scott ends up getting fiercely upset with Stiles about the full moon and his hypothesis, and Isaac ends up pushing him back, keeping him away from Stiles, and shouting for him to check himself, to realize this isn't how he would _normally_ act, but Scott ignores them both.

Getting first line, a party, and a few hunters later, Scott finally accepts the inevitable, and grins at them when they promise to both have his back, though he still looks a little worried about Allison's dad.

They deal with the rogue Alpha, Derek (who Isaac and Stiles both wisely realize _didn't_ murder his own sister, but who may, in fact, be a creeper with PTSD), and Kate all together, telling Stiles' dad after his prisoners get brutally slaughtered, no holding cell capable of keeping the serial-killer at bay, telling Allison when they realize she's _really_ , really not in on it.

Stiles does end up going to prom with Lydia, Isaac giving him a proud but strained looking smile when he decides he's not going at all. Getting kidnapped by Peter isn't great, and he refuses the Bite easily, trying to figure out everything he can about his kidnapper in the process, which is easy, considering how much he likes to fucking talk.

They do end up killing Peter, Derek becoming the Alpha, Scott hating him for it- still so sure that killing Peter would've made him human again- and Lydia having a freak-out in the hospital and disappearing. They don't kill Kate, however, Stiles' dad arresting her ass for fucking arson and eight counts of cold-blooded murder, plus an extended statutory rape charge.

* * *

"I'm going to ask Derek for the Bite," Isaac tells him, a little nervous, but determined, sitting next to him on the edge of his bed with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tightly.

"What?" Stiles asks, astonished, "Why?"

Isaac looks at him with soft eyes and a little smile, "Because I want- I _need_ to feel strong. It's, it's hard to explain, but, also because I want, I want _Pack_ , I want what that means."

"But don't you already have that with us?" Stiles asks, leaning into Isaac's side, trying to be understanding even though it hurts a little, it feels like Isaac is moving away from him somehow. It's scary.

"I do, in a way. But I don't think it's the same, and, I also know what it's like _not_ to have that, not to have _anyone_ , and that's where Derek is right now, isn't it? I can't just leave him like that. You can't either, Stiles, I know you can't."

Stiles snorts, knocks their shoulders together and confesses, "Yeah, I have been visiting him everyday. He hates me, I think, but he lets me hang around, even though he glares at me... Alright. You get the Bite and we both become Pack, I mean, nothing says humans can't be Pack, right?"

Isaac blinks at him in surprise, "You'd come with me?"

"Of _course_ I would, I'd _never_ leave you alone in this, Isaac. In anything."

"But-- Scott isn't going to be very happy with us, you know that, right?"

Stiles sighs, wraps his arms around Isaac in a sideways hug, hooks his chin on the other boy's shoulder and thinks for a moment. "I love Scotty," he says, "but he's blaming Derek unnecessarily. All killing Peter would've done is made him an Alpha, and he's barely handling being a Beta. And- I don't want the Bite, okay? I never will-"

"Why?" Isaac interrupts to ask, curious.

"My ADHD, for starters, and- you know, Scott's the most morally righteous person I know, he's practically a Disney Cartoon Prince, but the Bite took that strong, sturdy sense of self and control he had and turned it on its head. I'm nowhere near as good a person as Scott is-" "- _Not_ true," Isaac tells him, and Stiles pinches his side where his arms are wrapped around him.

"Stop interrupting me. _Anyway_ , a morally ambiguous hyperactive spazz does not the best werewolf make, and I'm not risking anyone around me _that_. I mean, what if I were to hurt my dad? You? I'd _never_ be able to forgive myself, I don't even want it to be an option."

"That is _so_ like you," Isaac says, leaning his head on Stiles', "I kind of feel shitty for wanting to be a werewolf now," he snickers, "it seems so selfish."

"It's _not_ Isaac, not for you. You need to feel strong, I get that. And you don't want Derek to be alone, either, which, considering he's essentially living in a house full of ghosts, is very much a _good_ idea. He needs people, you need to break out of the weakness your father boxed you into, and I need to make sure you're both... _safe_. You _especially_.

"So, maybe Scott will never forgive us, or maybe he'll understand, eventually, but right now we gotta do what we need to do, right?"

"Yeah," Isaac says, closes his eyes, breathes deep, feels safe in Stiles' arms, as he always does, and lets himself hope for the best.

* * *

Derek looks at the two of them, two half-scared, and yet terrifically brave kids. One wanting to be a werewolf, and the other wanting to be Pack regardless of their humanity, of the danger. He thinks of the things he knows are coming, and of how much he'll be needing a Pack in the coming days, of how much he needs a Pack _now_ , and he accepts them with relatively open arms.

* * *

Scott, wanting to avoid the inevitable fallout with the older Argents, and wanting desperately for the youngest one to be with him, by his side, is angry in the face of what he can only view as betrayal from his two best friends, and tries to stop Derek from continuing to establish and expand his Pack.

* * *

The Hale house, vaults, and the knowledge that Deaton is a former Emissary gives Stiles access to books, tomes, journals, all old as dirt, and all full to bursting with lore, it also gives him access to _Deaton_ and Derek, both of whom have vast amounts of knowledge, even if it takes for fucking _ever_ to pry it out of them.

With this all, though, Stiles learns more about Packs and Pack hierarchy and the Nemeton and what the Hale Pack was meant to be for this town, it's protectors. He learns about other Packs, other supernatural dangers, other Hunters, and he even ends up spending a week in Chicago with Isaac, learning from a Pack- or _Pride_ , actually- of were _cats_ , because _those_ are a thing, and _their_ relationship with the stable were _wolf_ Pack in the area, along with learning from the werewolves themselves.

Stiles, of course, feeds all this information and his ideas and advice to the Pack, which now consists of Isaac, Derek, himself, and after two weeks of him being a part of it, his dad.

Isaac ends up convincing Derek to give the Bite to Erica, and Stiles suggests Boyd, when they realize that in order for an Alpha to truly stabilize he needs three _supernatural_ Betas, and _six_ Pack- _mates_.

Isaac and Stiles try to convince Scott to be the sixth but he refuses, blows up at them about Derek being a pompous jerk, them being terrible friends, and how becoming Pack would mean losing Allison. Isaac ends up pointing out that _not_ becoming Pack is slowly leading to him losing _them_ , and Scott ends up asking why he would want traitors for friends anyway? Stiles punches him, _hard_ , and only ends up with three sprained fingers and bloody knuckles for his trouble.

Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Stiles go out in search for a sixth Beta, then, wanting their Alpha and their Pack to be stable and _good_ and _healthy_ , Erica smacking Derek upside the head when he says it's _fine_ , that Laura and he were a Pack of _two_ in New York for six fucking years and they'd survived, Stiles pointing out that they were both grieving and _idiots_ during that time.

They do end up finding a born-werebat by the name of Alice, orphaned and running from hunters. The three 'were's and one human (who's been taking self-defense and martial arts classes and is doing much better now in the way of fighting, thank you very much) end up taking out the hunters and bringing her in. She's young, but she's wise, and she makes for a wonderful sixth.

Derek ends up- having a full Pack, now- needing to find a place for them all, since they're all almost always with him, the wolves and bat wanting the comfort of their Alpha, the humans taking to 'were culture surprisingly well. He buys the Loft, and kind of pseudo-adopts Alice since she won't leave his side for anything short of Isaac's cooking or Stiles reading a bed-time story. She's kind of scared of Erica, and a little in love with Boyd, always begging at him to braid her hair or play with her. She thinks the sheriff is _funny_ , and always turns into a bat whenever he's around to curl up on his head, which the others find _endlessly_ amusing.

Stiles and Isaac (however much it hurts him to see them together in any capacity, to see him mooning over her) and the rest of the Pack with the exception of the sheriff and their Alpha, take Lydia to the skating rink to cheer her up after everything.

"You're in love with him," Erica realizes, when she sees him watching them with the tiniest hint of heartbreak in his eyes, the scent of it, though, _overwhelming_.

He looks at her, offers her a very broken kind of smile, and simply says, "Yes."

When Lydia screams like that, in the rink, feeling like she's going crazy, the Pack surrounds her, takes her home, leave her with well-wishes and tea while Stiles starts hypothesizing that, hey, maybe she's a banshee- because that? Wasn't normal.

He continues researching on this note as Lydia continues to do things that make it seem more plausible. So, when the Kanima pops up, and Derek wonders if maybe it's her, he shoots him down saying he's really, very sure it isn't, and who else has been bitten lately without actually turning? Which is when Derek brings up Jackson, and even little Alice calls him an idiot for being manipulated into giving that jackass what he wants.

Derek ends up grimacing, whereas the sheriff wonders aloud what he'll do with a Kanima? He can't arrest it, and, if Jackson isn't even aware of what he's doing, it'd be pretty damn unethical to kill him.

So, they start coming up with a plan. One that involves mountain ash, Stiles apparently being a Spark, and ends up getting thrown out the window for a new much more haphazard version the moment something crazy happens that fucks it all up.

Kidnapping a Kanima is much easier when you've got the sheriff and a whole Pack on your side. But, unfortunately, Jackson knows nothing and unless they plan on keeping him contained for the foreseeable future, which they can't do because his parents are already on the warpath, they've got to let him go, Stiles asks Derek if he knows how to use his Alpha claws, only he doesn't so Stiles works with Deaton to cast a forgetting spell on the boy, so he doesn't remember who took him or what happened during. They also put a tracking spell on him.

Which, of course, leads them to Matt, but not before Gerard's enacted his plan, using Allison to capture Boyd and Erica, two of his own goons to capture Stiles. With everything going on, although people notice them missing, Isaac and John especially, they end up not being able to do anything until Gerard's been given the Bite and Jackson's technically died twice, and revived completely as a 'were by the end of it. John arrests Gerard, sick as he is, and decides to let the newly resurrected Peter go _for now_.

Gerard laughs like he's in on some sort of joke they aren't privy to when they talk about Stiles in front of him, but tells them nothing.

Stiles and the two Betas show up an hour or two later, all looking like hell warmed over and smelling like blood and pain. Stiles tells them the Betas were captured and he got them out, Erica and Boyd look at him with wide eyes, like they want to say more, but he glares at them, and they both nod in agreement. Isaac doesn't miss, though, how stiffly Stiles is walking, how terrible he looks, and how mysterious his own disappearance was. So, he tries to stick around him, to make sure he's alright, or _something_.

Stiles snaps at him, tells him to go away, that he needs space, and Isaac feels hurt by that, more hurt than he can put into words, but, as always, he does as Stiles asks.

He leaves him alone.

* * *

The whole Pack senses the difference in Stiles, the new gap in he and Isaac's relationship, but they end up not knowing what to do about it.

Isaac finally takes his therapist's advice, he tries to move on, although, starting a relationship with the girl who kidnapped two of his best friends, two of his _Pack_ , when he's still so desperately in love with Stiles probably isn't the healthiest thing.

Scott gets pushed further away from the Pack after what he did, and ends up having _many_ wolf/anger-management and control issues stemming from his Packless, Anchorless state, still, with Deaton's help, he muddles through.

They deal with the Alpha Pack, Stiles providing essential research and learning a few spells that help them pull through faster, but it still takes awhile, and finding out about Cora, too, is as much of a gift as it is a blow, causing them to hesitate in their fight to spend time with her, stabilize the Pack-bond, which leads to them being unprepared when Kali attacks, tries to get Derek to kill one of his own.

Thankfully, though, Stiles with his newfound magic, and Alice with her capability of flight and ferocity, stop them, get them to just fucking _go_ , and the Pack spends the rest of the day trying to regroup, plan what to do next. Especially since there seem to be sacrificial killings going on at the same time.

* * *

Peter never tries to get Derek to give up his Alpha power to save Cora, since both he and she are surrounded by Pack, and he cares too much for them, now, anyway, holding a sobbing Alice on his hip and humming a lullaby to her, trying to calm her down, telling the nurses and doctors that the bat-wings are just a costume and would you ignore them, please?

Stiles comes through, a Baldr spell that, Deaton tells them later, no simple Druid _or_ Spark could perform. And yet, Stiles did perform it, which leads to the question of, what and how _powerful_ is he?

* * *

Deaton gives Stiles Isaac as his Anchor for the ice-bath, leaving Allison with Lydia, and Scott with Deaton himself. Isaac is confused by this, would've thought he'd be with Allison and Lydia with Stiles, but Allison gives him a crooked smile, and Isaac feels Stiles slip his hand into his, looks down into the chipped-toffee eyes of the boy he loves, so desperate and scared, and knows that this is probably the right choice, no matter how terrifying.

* * *

They manage to save them, the sheriff arresting Jennifer after Stiles, although he says he has no idea _how_ he did it, strips her of her powers completely, leaves her scarred and perfectly, terribly human. Scott may have wanted to let Deucalion go, but the Pack ends up killing him, after all, he's committed so much slaughter and travesty that believing him cured of his madness just because he's cured of his blindness is plainly naive.

Scott, after, is angry and mulish, but also harrowed and traumatized. He admits, begrudgingly, that he needs a Pack in order to survive, he hates it, but he sees that now, and, equally begrudging, the Pack accepts him, and with him, despite everything, Allison.

* * *

The Pack tries to help them with the sacrifice they made for their parents, and with the new supernatural creatures cropping up everywhere. Scott gets into a relationship with Kira, a kitsune, and starts becoming a better Beta, accepting his place within the Pack. Isaac and Allison are still together, even if sometimes, he wonders, that she maybe knows he isn't in love with her, might never be able to _fall_ in love with her, still so hung up on Stiles- he thinks, maybe, she's the same way, about Scott, but they cling to each other, anyway, with nowhere for their feelings to go, they direct them at each other.

Stiles isn't as distant anymore, but he isn't the same, and it gets more and more obvious that the sacrifice, the _darkness_ affected him more than any of the rest of them.

They realize far, far too late, that it isn't just darkness, or some neurological disease, but, in fact, a Nogitsune, riding passenger alongside his soul.

* * *

As the Nogitsune controls the Oni and has them fighting most of the Pack (Allison, Chris, Scott, Isaac, Derek, Erica, and Kira), the rest (Boyd, John, and Peter) race to find Lydia, while Stiles stays benched with little Alice. Fortunately, this also means he's the only one to get the message Lydia sends about Allison's impending death. Ignoring his own pain, he grabs Alice and runs, literally, headfirst into the fray with his jeep just as Lydia starts screaming and Allison gets stabbed.

He rushes forward, swerves around Oni that are already turning to dust in the light of day, and runs for her, crouching down by her side.

"-I will always love-" she's saying, and Stiles interrupts with an, "Oh, no you don't."

"Stiles?" She breathes choked, Scott looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. He flashes them both a brave, reassuring sort of smile.

"No death-confessions allowed, Ally, because I'm not letting you die," he tells her, putting his hands over theirs on her wound. "I'm not letting that _thing_ with my _face_ and my _hands_ kill _anyone_ else, and I'm sure as hell not letting it kill _you_. You understand me?"

"Stiles..." Scott sniffs, sounding heartbroken and lost, "I don't know if there's anything-"

And then his hands start to glow, and Allison gasps, Scott lets out a shaky sobbing sort of laugh.

"Stiles," she says in awe as his whole _body_ starts glowing, the light spreading up and through him, until it's so bright everyone has to close their eyes against the force of it. When it finally dies down, Allison and Scott both look at her stomach, completely healed now, and laugh in giddy relief, looking up at each other with what could only be considered heart-eyes.

Stiles is happy for them, really, he is, only, her wound is _his_ now, and he wasn't in great condition to start with. He wonders distantly, as he presses his already bloodied hands against his side, how the hell he even _did_ that? It was just, he had such an intense need, and his magic, it just _answered_ him, like he had already known, instinctually, it would.

Allison and Scott look over toward him, beaming, already laughing and breathing out their thanks only for their faces to fall once they realize the state he's in.

"Oh my god," she gasps, catching him when he starts swaying too far to the side, "Stiles, what did you do?"

"The only thing I could," he answers honestly, tasting blood bubbling up in his mouth, making his spit frothy as it mingles with it. "I saved you."

He thinks he hears Isaac scream his name, feels strong arms pick him up, urgent, and remembers that day, when he got the first lead on the Hale fire, the first _real_ one, when Isaac had picked him up and twirled him around and said he was _proud_ , and then all he sees is darkness.

Vast, expansive, swallowing him whole.

Well, he thinks, sardonic even in the face of this, at least it isn't a nightmare.

* * *

It's been four weeks, and he's finally, finally being discharged from the hospital. He's got four pins in his spine, lots of stitches, lots of painkillers, and he'll probably never walk again, but, because Allison's alive, they found out what silver does to the Oni, and figured out how to kill the goddamned Nogitsune.

He's just the slightest bit bitter he didn't get to be a part of that, but he was in a bad way, there was no way he could've been.

He squints up at the sky as his dad wheels him out of the hospital, the sky so fucking blue, the sun too bright.

"Stiles," Derek greets gruffly, falling in step beside his father. Stiles snorts.

"Sourwolf," he replies, then blinks at the surrounding parking lot, seeing the camaro and his dad's cruiser and his jeep (a jeep he won't ever _drive_ again) amongst the various cars. But nothing, no one else, well, except for Peter who's coming toward them, Alice racing in front of him with a grin on her face, wearing a tiny girlish backpack that, to any normal person, would look like the thing her bat-wings stem from.

The effect is a little less realistic when she flaps her wings in order to jump-fly glomp him in his chair.

"Oof, ow, ow, careful," he groans, wincing, and she cringes sympathetically, shifting on his lap until he's comfortable.

"Papa says you're never gonna walk again," she sulks, "is'sat true? Because that's not fair at all! You're the only one who takes me flying, and shows me the Faerie Rings."

Peter grimaces, "Sorry," he murmurs, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Don't be, it's true. And I'll make the Betas take care of you, I swear."

"But none of them even _know_ what a Faerie Ring _is_!"

"I didn't even know Faerie Rings existed?" Derek mumbles, confused.

"See?" She says, petulant, gesturing madly toward him. "Mama doesn't even _know_!"

Derek groans, and Stiles snickers, "You're still calling them that?" he asks her, and she grins, leans in conspiratorially.

"Mama turns into a tomato, and Papa smells like syrup when I do it. It's _so_ funny."

"I can still _hear_ you, brat," Derek tells her, and she hits him with a wing, he grunts. "Whatever."

"I'll teach them, then," Stiles tells her, and she turns her velvet eyes on him- they move, still, even as she maintains her focus, rapid involuntary little movements from side to side, like they're dancing- hopeful as anything, and produces her pinky finger. He smiles, wrapping his own around it, "Pinky promise."

"If you break it..." She threatens, with the best glare her cherubic little face can manage, and Stiles grins.

"Never."

He's still having nightmares, still fucked up beyond all belief, and he still has no fucking _clue_ what he is, but everyone he loves is alive, and, right now, in this moment, they're all _safe_.

Maybe he'll be stuck in this wheelchair, maybe nothing will ever be the same again, but, he's alive, too, and nothing is out for them. Right now, as his dad helps him into the cruiser, Alice demanding to ride with them, and the rest of the Pack, he knows, already heading to his house once school lets out, he has to hold onto that.

* * *

♘ _ACT THREE_ ♘

* * *

Allison watches Isaac, his eyes soft and full in a way they never are unless he's looking at Stiles, and takes a deep breath.

"Isaac," she says, tentative, even though she's pretty sure they've both seen this coming _miles_ away. It takes him a minute to drag his eyes away from the boy in the wheelchair, braiding Alice's hair as they watch The Walking Dead, which, really, she should be too young for, but she just keeps flapping her wings and clapping every time a particularly gory scene comes on, or laughing in delight when the actors on the screen begin to cry. Stiles keeps huffing at her to stay still, because wing-flapping is not conducive to hair-braiding.

"Hmm?"

"I'm in love with Scott," she blurts, laughs a little awkwardly, sees Scott blush from his place next to Stiles, "and," she takes another deep breath, then, softer, "you're in love with someone else, too."

His smile is both knowing and understanding when he says, "Yes."

Scott, Cora, and Derek, apparently not having known this, snap their heads up to look at him in surprise.

"So," she sucks in a breath through her teeth and smiles sheepishly with a shrug, "wanna just be friends?"

Isaac laughs, claps a hand on her shoulder and says, "We're family, Ally, nothing will ever change that. And I humbly accept this break-up," Peter snickers from his usual place on the spiral staircase and, not even knowing what he was snickering at or why, Lydia slaps him upside the head, he feigns hurt and she rolls her eyes at him. "Now go and figure out what you're going to do about _Kira_ , because I have a feeling she'll be much less amenable to this than I am."

Allison smiles at him, shakes her head, "Thanks, Isaac."

"Mmm," he hums, already distracted, walking over to Stiles and hooking his chin on the boy's head, resting his elbows on his shoulders, and wrapping his hands around the top of Alice's wings, "Better?"

"Yes, oh my god, _thank_ you, she was _never_ going to sit still!"

"Heyyyy," Alice whines, "no fair. You're cheating!"

Stiles scoffs, "This isn't a _game_ , Alice, hair-braiding is _serious business_. Unless, of course, you want your hair to look just like all the other girls' on your field trip tomorrow? Because I could just stop, or have Erica-"

"No!" She yelps, "No, it's fine, it's fine, you don't have to hold my wings, I'll be still!"

Stiles smirks and Isaac lets go of her wings in favor of wrapping his arms around Stiles' neck and just leaning into him for awhile.

Derek and Cora get this abrupt look of understanding and shock on their faces while Scott just remains, adorably, confused.

* * *

"How many times," Isaac wonders, holding Stiles up in an odd sideways carry high on his chest so he can reach the part of the tree that has the most magical potential, etching the wards of protection and connection as delicately as he can, "have you done things like this?"

"What do you mean?" Stiles asks, confused, as the rune glows blue for a moment, before looking like a regular, innocuous carving. Isaac lowers him down into a princess carry and Stiles points him to the next suitable tree.

"I mean, if you didn't need help, you'd be out here doing this on your own, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," Stiles says, wrapping an arm around Isaac's shoulders, drawing out the word with his brow furrowed in confusion, having no idea where this is going, and Isaac looks down at him, soft pools of water in his eyes glistening with concern.

"And how many times have you done-" Isaac sighs, "Going off on your own, exhausting yourself, maybe even getting hurt? How many times have you done that to protect us without any of us ever knowing?"

"This isn't _that_ exhaustive," Stiles says, unconvincingly, around a giant yawn. Isaac narrows his eyes at him.

"Uh huh, whatever you say."

Stiles sticks his tongue out at him, and Isaac snorts.

He does think, though, about some of the things Isaac doesn't know, _nobody_ knows, except the few who were there when it happened. Him getting kidnapped by Peter, _tortured_ by Gerard. And, he doesn't blame them, none of them, for not having noticed, he did his level best to hide it, after all, even going so far as to push Isaac and his dad away while he was healing. But it still hurts, in some, deep, shattered part of him, that they never came for him, never noticed he was in such a bad way.

He remembers, though, how hurt and heartbroken Isaac had seemed directly after that, and he'd wanted to say something, then, just so he'd stop smiling like he was seconds away from falling apart, but the next day he'd said he was dating Allison, and then so many things were happening, at this point, with Stiles... _broken_ , in so many fucking ways, it just seems like it'll never be the right time to tell him, or any of them- and besides, what good would it do? Just make them look at him like he's even _more_ fragile? Delicate? A burden, a liability?

"Whatever you're thinking about," Isaac murmurs, right against his temple, " _stop_."

Stiles bites his lip, wonders what he must've smelled like, with all that running through his head.

"I wasn't thinking about anything," he mumbles, a blatant lie, but Isaac doesn't point it out, just holds him closer until they get to the right tree.

* * *

At nights, when Stiles gets bored, Isaac gets about fifty texts. He's become Roscoe's guardian, Stiles' chauffeur, and resident werewolf carriage- although that last part may be just because he clings to any chance to touch the boy. He loves it, loves spending more time together, it feels almost like it was _before_ , well, before lots of things.

The atmosphere of it, anyway, they're both, they're both very different people now.

Which might be why, after they've watched some obscure foreign comedy that made absolutely no sense at the cinema, Isaac says:

"It's friday."

"And?" Stiles giggles, "Something special about fridays?"

"The best coffee," he answers, and Stiles' scent sours some with resigned sadness. "And my back feels cold."

That has Stiles looking up at him over his shoulder in complete and utter confusion, and Isaac snorts, ruffling his hair.

"I'll give you a piggy-back ride, my back gets warmed up, and we get the best coffee Beacon Hills has to offer, win-win, how about it? Just like old times?"

"Not _just_ like old times," Stiles points out, half sarcastic, and Isaac stops wheeling him toward the car, comes around to the front and crouches down in front of him, looking deep and earnest into his eyes.

"No," he concedes, " _better_."

* * *

After what happened, Stiles and his dad traded bedrooms, putting him on the bottom floor, and several renovations were made to make the house wheelchair accessible. Being on the bottom floor, though, also means his window is that much easier to get to, and he finds wolves, bat, _banshee_ , hunter, _everyone_ , climbing in, like it's just another fucking _door_.

He tries to tell them, _'why don't you just use the actual door?'_, but does anyone listen to him? No, no they don't.

Isaac does it most, though, still unable to really sleep on his own, although Stiles feels kind of bad, because he's not sleeping much _here_ anymore either.

He dreams of cities burning, of a trickster fox burning it down and laughing as he slurped on the blood of people he massacred, he dreams of Gerard and his eyes, like poached eggs, gleeful and glossy as the whip struck, he dreams of Kate, of swirling, terrible, disgusting things, of agony and of _never_ waking up, of losing his mind to that place in between.

"-iles, Stiles, shhh, hush. Come on, my sweet angel, wake up, it's just a dream, just a dream. I've got you Stiles, I've got you, okay? You're safe, shh..."

Isaac's face is right in front of his, thumbs swiping away the tears, pressed up all against him, and Stiles chokes on a sob of relief when he realizes he isn't alone, that he _is_ safe.

"There you are, angel," Isaac murmurs with a sleepy smile, and Stiles whimpers quietly, desperately wrapping his arms around Isaac's middle and burying his face in his shoulder. Isaac easily cuddles into him, holds him close, protective, shielding him from the world.

"It's okay, Stiles," he says, stroking a hand through his ever-lengthening hair. "You'll be okay."

* * *

When Stiles wakes up again, his face is buried in Isaac's chest, and Isaac is still fast asleep. He looks at this boy, years gone like this, no fear or ache or trauma, just curly hair and long eyelashes and cute little snuffling noises, the sunrise coming in through white-cotton curtains warming his face. He smiles softly, traces a cheekbone with the tips of his fingers.

Isaac shifts, leaning into the touch, taking in a deep breath, eyes fluttering open and lighting sleepy and heavy-lidded on Stiles. He smiles, and it's the most enchanting, boyish, gorgeous thing he's ever seen.

"Hello," he says, and Stiles' heart skips a beat.

"Hello," he breathes, and wonders where the hell he's supposed to go from here, only that question's answered in every singularity for him, when Isaac leans forward, pressing their foreheads together, his heart beating double fucking time, a blush creeping up hot on his cheeks.

"Stiles," Isaac murmurs, something like awe and reverence in both his eyes and voice, "your heart skipped a beat."

"N-no it d-didn't," Stiles stutters, and all he can see are Isaac's eyes, now, the way they're crinkling with a smile, looking at him with a heartbreaking sort of joy, pressing closer.

"And now it's beating so _fast_. Why is that, huh? Tell me?"

"N-no reason?" Stiles is confused. Shouldn't this be pissing Isaac off? Making him push away? Not smile like Christmas has come early and get closer, and closer, and- oh, that's, those are lips, gentle and sleep-warm and soft, Isaac's lips, right against his.

"Tell me," Isaac whispers against him, and Stiles shivers.

"You," Stiles breathes, as Isaac pushes his thumb against the bottom of Stiles' lip, pulling his mouth open and licking his lips. Stiles swallows, and Isaac dives, devours his mouth with his, lets his tongue wonder, a slick slide that's as tender as it is yearning, tastes like sleep and twizzlers and coffee with marshmallows in, makes something burn and coil in his gut. "It was because of you," he repeats, panting, when Isaac pulls away, and the other boy beams.

"Good," he purrs, kissing him again, licking inside, and Stiles can't help the moan that escapes him when Isaac nibbles on his tongue, sucking, licking, if he _could_ , he's pretty sure his hips would be seeking out friction, as the _need_ , frustration, burn, builds up inside him. Isaac rubs their noses together as he pulls away, licks his lips, swallows, breathes.

"I want you," he says firmly when he opens his eyes, and he looks so oddly vulnerable, like a little kid again, waiting for the next beating, "I want _this_ , I have for," he chuckles soft, sighs, "for a _long_ time. Which is why I kissed you just then," he smiles, but it's a little watery, and Stiles' breath hitches, "because I thought maybe you'd kiss me back."

"And I did," Stiles says, and Isaac nods, but he still looks a little bit like he's going to cry, or run away, and Stiles really, really doesn't want him to look like that, not after something that felt so, so fucking _right_ , perfect and lovely and sweet, something he wants to do _again_. "Isaac..." He only kissed him _now_ because he thought he might kiss back, and he's wanted to, before, for a long time, he said, only-

"How long?"

Isaac falters, hesitates, cups his cheek with one wide, warm, strong hand, and searches his face, eyes as vast and fathomless as the sea, brimming with that small secret emotion he always seems to hold there, "Four years," he whispers, like he's confessing, like it's the biggest, heaviest secret he's ever kept, and Stiles can't breathe through the lump in his throat, because a lot of things he never paid attention to suddenly feel naked and bare and so much more fragile, broken, lost, scared in the face of this, "I have loved you for four years, Stiles Stilinski, and I don't think I'm going to ever stop."

"Even while you were with Allison?" Stiles blurts, and hates himself a little for it.

Isaac just laughs gently, "She was in love with Scott," he points out, then, "and I was in love with you. Neither of us could be with the people we truly _wanted_ , and both of us were cowards. It was just easier to be cowardly _together_."

"And now?"

"I can't anymore, Stiles," Isaac says, and he kisses him again, soft. "If you want to just stay friends? I'll try, I really will, but I can't hide how I feel anymore, not when... I just _can't_."

Stiles wraps his arms around him, holds on tight, and lets out a long, shaky breath.

"Then _don't_. I don't want you to. I don't know if I, if I feel that way, not that _strong_ , but I... Can we try? To be more than friends? I want to try."

Isaac laughs, and it sounds wet, relieved, hopeful, as he pulls Stiles on top of him, the bed creaking in protest.

"Yeah, Stiles, we can try. We can definitely try."

* * *

Kira does, in fact, put up a bit of a fuss about being broken up with, though it turns out, a week later, that her parents are planning to move again, Kira needing to learn how to live within her fox-spirit. She bids them all an awkward goodbye when the day comes, and then she's gone.

Scott, in the middle of making out with Allison wantonly right there, in Stiles' living room, gasps with realization when he sees Stiles tentatively pull Isaac in for a shy kiss while the boy is cooking.

"You're the person he likes! Oh my god! Why didn't you _tell_ me?" He shouts, indignant and sulky that he's the last one to know, and Erica rolls her eyes at him.

"Seriously, Scott? Anyone with _eyes_ could've told you, it was _obvious_."

"It was?" Scott and Stiles ask simultaneously, and Isaac snorts.

"I'm apparently not very good at hiding it," Isaac remarks.

"He's been so far gone on you for so long," Lydia sighs, "it was almost pitiful. You really didn't notice?"

"No," Stiles breathes, dazed.

"You mean you all already knew?!" Scott's outraged, and Peter snickers as Erica guffaws.

"I didn't know," Derek admits, "until he and Allison broke up."

"That was a month ago!"

"I knew from the moment I met them," Alice chirps happily. They all turn to look at her in surprise, and she shrugs "they smell pretty together."

Stiles grins, urges Isaac down from his cooking for another little kiss, "You hear her? We smell _pretty_ together."

Isaac smiles at him and his eyes sparkle and Stiles is pretty sure this is the first time _anyone's_ looked at him like that, like he hung the fucking moon. It knocks him a little breathless, if he's being honest.

"Ugh," Cora groans, "stop being so cute, it's sickening."

"Shut up," Stiles tells her gleefully before wheeling out of the kitchen so as to stop distracting Isaac from the food. She sticks her tongue out at him, he sticks his tongue out back, and Lydia raises very delicate, judgemental eyebrows at both of them.

* * *

Stiles' heart is beating a crazy fast tattoo in his chest and he's pretty sure it's going to thump itself right out of his ribcage here, soon, sprout legs and take a vacation to Australia, because even _that_ would be less taxing than having your extremely hot werewolf boyfriend making out with you, all hot and bothered, in your lap.

Thank god he etched runes into the frame of this creaky old thing to make it the sturdiest wheelchair on the face of the planet, he's pretty sure it would've given under the weight and movement by now, otherwise.

Isaac sucks on his bottom lip, grinds his hips forward and groans, sliding his hand up, under Stiles' shirt, grazing a thumbnail over his nipple, which has him hissing and writhing as much as his body will allow.

"Fuck," Isaac gasps, hips stuttering, "you're so sensitive."

"I think it has something- ahh-ahh-nnmm-" Stiles mewls as Isaac pinches the pebble of his nipple, tugging on his earlobe with his teeth. Electric shocks spread out, fizzle in his blood, make heat and need and want build up inside of him- "t-to do with, losing sensation in- mmm-ahh, jesus, Isaac..."

"I love you," Isaac breathes, and Stiles' heart skips a beat, butterflies flutter in his stomach. He's been saying it every day for the past two months, like now that he's confessed and they're together he can't even stop himself, like he's making up for all the times he kept the words, the emotions, locked behind his teeth, on the tip of his tongue. Stiles is never going to get used to it, he thinks, as Isaac murmurs it again, against his jaw, and Stiles makes a sound he didn't even know he was _capable_ of.

Isaac climbs off of him, pupils blown, and he looks absolutely wrecked, licks his lips, swallows, "I want to touch you, taste you. Stiles... can I?"

Stiles' breath hitches, he doesn't know, he's _ready_ , he _wants_ , he _does_ , but he doesn't know if- everything's been _different_ , his ability to _feel_ things below the waist has been severely lacking, and though he can get hard, it never stays for long and he knows he can cum, if he tries really fucking hard, and it's- it's frustrating. He worries, about how Isaac will feel about that, about what it'll mean if he _can't_ -

"Hey," Isaac says, kneeling in front of him, taking his hand and pressing spit-slick lips against his knuckles, looking up at him through pale eyelashes, "it's okay if you don't want to. I'd never want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you know that, right?"

"No, I, I know..." Stiles sighs, squeezes Isaac's fingers, "I just don't know if it'll _work_. I _want_ to, I just-"

Isaac reaches up, curls a hand around the back of his neck and surges forward to kiss him breathless.

"It'll be different," he says, matter-of-factly, "you'll have to avoid doing things that remind me of my dad, and I'll have to figure out what works for you just like you'll have to figure out what works for me- like, for instance, bathing and washing? Totally a kink of mine, but I don't _get off_ on it, it just makes me feel really, really good. And Allison? She liked leather corsets, wearing them," Isaac wrinkles his nose, "I... don't."

"You tried on leather corsets?" Stiles gawps, appalled and delighted simultaneously, and Isaac laughs, kisses him again.

"We're young," he shrugs, "exploring our sexuality is something we're _meant_ to do. And, to me? You're the sexiest person I've ever met, will _ever_ meet-"

"You're biased," Stiles teases, and Isaac beams.

"Yes, I am."

Then they're kissing again, and Stiles is still a little worried, but he trusts Isaac, and, he thinks, even if it ends up being frustrating, they _will_ figure it out, _together_ , not just this-

There are still so many other things to work through, things to _do_ , and, even though he _is_ falling in love with Isaac, he doesn't know if he can quite say it yet, but he will do, soon. They each have trauma, things to learn about each other, _growing up_ to do. But, with Isaac in his lap, lips against his, for maybe the first time in a long while, he isn't scared of what's coming next.

He's _excited_.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone was wondering, Alice has nystagmus, which is what was going on with her eyes.
> 
> I love Malia, I do, but, but, juggling so many characters- ugh, no. lol
> 
> Act Two was mostly a summarizing of the canon-divergence that occured due to everything that happened in Act One. Included in that, while not explicitly stated, was the fact that Scott didn't go Alpha, and Peter wasn't an ass, and Malia didn't exist. Jackson _did_ leave, though, because, just, _so_ many characters. I really need to get better at that.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! I love you all! Muah, muah, muah!!!


End file.
